


MDMC - Criminal Minds Collection 2: the Fandom AU remix

by whiskeyandspite



Series: Music Drabble Meme Challenges [2]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: 27 Dresses - Freeform, Fight Club - Freeform, Hunger Games, Implied Smut, Inception - Freeform, Les Miserables - Freeform, M/M, Stalker, au fandom mashup, brick - Freeform, gamer - Freeform, looper - Freeform, major character death only in implications and not in all stories, sin city - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 11:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another long and easy shift at work... and another set of drabbles! I decided to amp up the difficulty level a little by making this a fandom remix, meaning every single one of these drabbles is based on a separate film fandom. I did want to be diverse but I ended up sticking with angsty dramas and beautiful dark things.</p><p>Hope you like em!</p><p>If you think they're a good idea (and I did a vaguely ok job) feel free to make movie requests, I might do one like this again!</p>
            </blockquote>





	MDMC - Criminal Minds Collection 2: the Fandom AU remix

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Pick a character, fandom, pairing, friendship, theme, etc.  
> 2\. Put on your music program on shuffle/random and start playing songs.  
> 3\. For each song, write something inspired by the song related to the theme you chose earlier. You only have the song length. No pre-planning and no writing after the song is over. No skipping songs unless you’re completely stuck – this is meant to be a challenge.  
> 4\. Do 10 songs and post. Make sure to include the song name/artist.
> 
> -
> 
> I've been told I type way too quickly... because of that some of these seem overly long.

** Set The Controls For The Heart Of The Sun - Pink Floyd **  
_Based on Sin City (2005)_

Night. Nothing but moonlight cutting through the black of the midnight shift as Derek Morgan watched the smoke billow from his cigarette. It was a slow night in Oldtown, down in Basin City, and rain was close enough to taste.

The screeching tires were what got his attention first. It wasn't uncommon to see cops or those running from them driving through Sin City to let Oldtown protect them. Of course, if you weren't buying what Oldtown was selling, you'd be sent packing just as pointedly as you would in the city proper. But these tires, they belonged to a car that looked like it was running on its last legs; the rubber burning over the cold cement until the motor gave out and the car stalled and skidded, slowing down perhaps a block away from the Amigo.

Derek flicked the ash off the cigarette and returned it to his lips, just waiting. He knew the car. Everyone here knew the car.

And right on cue, the slim form of Spencer Reid slipped out of the driver's seat, catching himself on the open door.

The boy was notorious, sixteen kills to his name and no record with the police to date. He was skilled and he was eager, and he was dangerous as all hell when he was out of his stash and denied what he wanted. Derek watched. He watched the kid kick the tires of his car and curse loud enough to echo. Watched him run slim fingers through his long hair. Watched as those feline eyes turned to him and settled, a small smile tugging at his lips.

He'd been the kid's target for well over a year.

Derek smiled back, flicking the ash off before sending the butt of the cigarette flying, a red ember in the colorless night.

Spencer cocked his head, and Derek raised his chin in acknowledgement, This was a dance they knew well, and one they were experts in. Without a word, he turned on his heel and entered the club, fairly certain the kid was following.

-

** Talk Show Host – Radiohead **  
_Based on Brick (2005)_

"I. Don't. Trust. You." the words are delivered with such venom that Spencer has to smile. Of course he can't trust him, Derek isn't an idiot; that's the reason he's survived as long as he has. High school would have eaten him otherwise, being the kid he was; not yet hit his growth spurt, too small for sport, too clever for drugs... Spencer had been sucked in. Bullied and beaten and dragged down screaming, but he'd gone.

"How time changes things," he pointed out with a smirk. It was a month now that he and Derek had been together, pressing desperate kisses to mouths, to jawlines and lower behind the prefabs where no one could see. Spencer letting the older boy pull his body up, wrap his legs around him and make him writhe. He'd admit, in the last month he'd certainly missed the staggered way he'd walked when he and Derek had been an item.

And then the drugs had come in. More so than usual. And Derek had given him the ultimatum of clean or cut. And they'd cut.

"Drugs change things." Derek spat back. Spencer smiled wider, pressing his thumb against a sharp canine as the cigarette between his cold fingers trembled a little.

"Then why are you here?" he purred, "If you don' trust me?"

And the look on Derek's face was almost worth it, almost worth trying to quit, almost worth trying to get out from under the thumb of the Pin, almost worth everything he'd suffered through to get as high as he'd gotten on the ladder. He knew why Derek was back, just as Derek did; staring at him with feigned hate and forced anger. 

Lust never changed.

-

** Kingdom Come - The Civil Wars **  
_Based on Hunger Games (2012)_

It was cold, unusual for this time of year. But then, Spencer was always cold on Reaping day. There was just something about how happy someone was to select a boy and a girl to fight to the death that just froze him to the bones. He shifted his weight, eyes down as the film played overhead. He'd seen it for sixteen years now, over and over, since he'd been old enough to remember. This was his last year, and his name was in 28 times.

The girls were announced. He knew her, she sat three rows behind him in class but he hadn't known her name until it was echoing around the district. Amber Leigh. Amber. She suited her name. And she was terrified as she climbed the steps to her death. This district wasn't known for a high success rate.

He licked his lips and swallowed thickly, just waiting. He could hear the papers shift around in the bowl on stage, as the official took their time selecting 'the lucky tribute' for their fate. He could almost feel how fast his heart was going and it sounded like an old gypsy beat in his head. He'd heard them, once or twice, those brave enough to uphold the culture outside of the Capitol's control. Their music free and loud and resisting. Always resisting.

The name was called and Spencer sobbed. Closing his eyes tight and feeling his throat constrict. He pushed a fist between his teeth and forced himself to stand straighter, to take a deep breath before levelling his eyes on the stage. His name hadn't been called.

But Derek's had.

-

** The Noose - A Perfect Circle **  
_Based on Looper (2012)_

10...

9...

8...

And he'd known this would happen, had known this would all go to fucken hell when he'd decided to reject being a Looper in favor of being the cleanup team. He knew it would all turn to shit if he let himself fall, but he'd fallen anyway.

Spencer turned the gun a little, the angle more comfortable for the grip and the size of the thing, and turned his head away. The pocket watch lay next to Derek, ticking away, closer and closer to the time he was meant to make his own kill. His blunderbus lay not far away, still bloody from where Spencer had hit him over the head with it to keep him still.

7...

He was the clean up crew. He didn't ask questions - in fact he asked less than a Looper - and he didn't have to close a loop later. It was like getting dental with a shit-paying job. Something to look forward to that was completely useless until it bit you in the ass.

6...

And he'd TOLD the bastard, he'd told him he wouldn't do this for him, he'd told him it was against policy, against rules, against his own fucken moral compass - if that even existed anymore, and Derek had asked anyway. Citing 'love'. Citing 'commitment'. Citing the fucken time space continuum.

"If you kill me now, I won't have to kill myself later," he'd said, "I won't have to commit pseudosuicide or whatever."

5...

"It's against my religion," they'd both laughed at that.

4...

Spencer cocked the pistol, jaw set and angry. He was a clean up crew, he cleaned up messes, he cleaned up shit that had gone wrong, he chased up Loopers that ran. He'd seen enough limbless bodies from the future crawl their way to his door before he'd blasted a hole in their skull. He'd decided long ago he didn't want to see Derek's.

3...

And Derek, the asshole, had decided long ago he wouldn't close the loop. Thirty years were thirty he didn't need.

"Fuck's the point of living to old age?" he'd asked Spencer, passing him the bottle of jack, "I'm dead anyway."

Spencer hadn't replied beyond sliding his body further down the other man's taking a sip before feeding it to him in a slow, sloppy kiss.

2...

And now he was here. Staging Derek's fucken murder as though he'd run before his time. making it look like he'd had to clean up when he'd been the one that made the fucken mess in the first place.

Derek's watch ticked over. A bagged and tied body appeared behind him.

And Spencer didn't wait for one.

-

** Run - Snow Patrol **  
_Based on Stalker (1979)_

They all came with a reason. Every single bloody one of them. And none of them understood. None of them even thought about what this would mean if they stepped into that room, if they let themselves been seen by it, be read by it and understood by it... they all thought it was a quick fix; you go in, you make a wish, and it comes true.

In essence it was really that simple.

But wishes never were that simple. Never. Especially in a room that granted only what your heart wanted, not what your mind tried to cloud you with.

Derek had led hundreds of people through the Zone in his time, risked his life, risked theirs... he'd lost a few people before, but that was always due to their stupidity, never to his tracking. They would double back. They would try to take the quick route. And the Zone would take them. He'd take months off at a time, curled in a corner with his head in his hands trying to figure out why he did this, why he was even here. The Zone was sacred, misunderstood, fragile. It was a living thing that people whipped and mauled and pushed and forced. It was an entity and they treated it like a toy.

That's why Derek stopped.

Had stopped.

For eight months.

And then Spencer had shown up. A skinny, tiny kid he'd seen around town, trying to pick up work here and there. His mother wasn't well, if he remembered, or not around anymore. He had no siblings. His dad wasn't in the picture. He'd seen the kid on street corners just eyeing up a place, but he never broke in, never sunk low enough to steal.

And then one day he'd come to Derek and told him. Take me in. Let me see it.

And it had been so honest. Such a genuine request. Respectful, awed, curious. And Derek had taken him. Had shown him all the paths he knew. Had shown him the door and held him back from entering. Told him he wouldn't like what wish it granted. Spencer had asked him how he knew and Derek hadn't answered.

Because hearts don't know logic, he wanted to tell him, they don't understand reason. And if you're faced with the granting of your heart's greatest desire, you go mad.

-

** Sweet Dreams (are made of this) - Emily Browning **  
_Based on Gamer (2009)_

And he was back. Amidst the color and light and endless parties of Society. Back and wondering what the hell he'd be made to do today. Wondering if he'd even survive the day. New makeup hid the bruises of before; liner smudged enough to make the bags under his eyes appear part of the overall look. He wasn't even sure what the overall look was anymore. Society had smudged not only the ethical line but also the blurrier lines of fashion and good sense. Spencer couldn't even count the times he'd found himself in cross dress, cursing everything and everyone silently in his mind as he'd gone around with a plastic smile, playing as he was supposed to.

Today, at least, he had been allowed pants.

He walked without purpose, just meandering around the sunny quad of the general arena, letting himself look around, being allowed to doge the rollerbladers today instead of colliding with them. His pace slowed as he hit the lobby, and the air conditioning hit him. He'd assumed he'd be back. He always found himself back. Bending over for anyone in particular for the amusement of whoever controlled him. He'd started to think, of late, that he was controlled by a very hormonal teenage girl, too bored with her fake dollies and needing to play with a real one.

He made his way up the stairs, feeling his hands slip into his pockets as he did. He hadn't met anyone yet, so he probably wasn't going to be humiliated in public today, that in itself was a plus. He walked further, turning a corner and letting one hand catch the railing so he could swing. If he'd had control of it, he'd be smiling. It was such a strangely free feeling, childlike almost to be swinging that way.

Perhaps his player was in a good mood today.

He was on the sixth floor by the time his feet stopped moving. Outside a door he didn't recognize.

"Open it,"

Spencer frowned. He'd never heard his player before, and the voice - surprisingly - was male. And familiar in a way that hurt him to remember. He did open it, stepping into the light room and closing the door behind him.

"Stay still."

And he did, swallowing lightly and feeling his breath fill his lungs and leave them.

"You know how much you cost on the black market, kid?"

And Spencer felt himself smile. The voice was familiar. And warm. And welcome. And coming straight from the leader of the resistance. He felt his jaw unclench as he was allowed control of speech.

"Took your fucken time, Morgan," he murmured.

-

** Statues – Moloko **  
_Based on Les Miserables (2012)_

Stalemate.

Again.

And in the reeking, seeping streets of Paris in November.

Spencer was shivering, Derek more so, and neither moved. Neither breathed.

"Six." Spencer said quietly, licking his chapped lips and tilting his head a little. Derek smiled.

"You keep count?"

"Hard not to, with the one person who keeps eluding me." came the slow reply. And Derek smiled wider. The game of cat and mouse had been going for well over a decade. Both men getting tired, both wanting to keep the chase going long enough to seem worthy. And around them their city fell and broke and drowned in its own shit and illness. Neither would admit it, but this revolution was really quite relaxing. A change of scenery, if anything.

Neither were wealthy, both would benefit from it more than those poor bastards about to lose their heads.

"Want to make it seven?"

Spencer gave him a withering look. "Hardly. Six is quite enough."

And they were silent again, and still, as the rain washed the mud around them and made their boots sink lower. Spencer's hand shook a little more the sword not held quite so high. Derek had set the end of the flagpole he held into the dirt behind him.

"So?"

"So."

But neither shifted, neither gave. And Spencer almost hated it when he broke the shaky peace between them, when he lunged and cut a harsh line just under Derek's jaw, making the man gasp and drop his weapon. and he raised the sword higher, ready, so damned tired of the shit and stink and absurdity of it all. And he sighed, more a snarl than a breath, and yanked Derek closer, fingers wet from water and from blood.

"You better fucken live," he murmured, "For seven."

And he ignored Derek's smile, his slow, seductive thing, as he shoved him away and sheathed his weapon, and stepped back. Around them, canon fire started as the first barricades were breached.

-

** Time - Hans Zimmer **  
_Based on 27 Dresses (2008)_

Well that was that then. He was too late. Even running through most of NYC when his cab got stuck in traffic he knew would do him in, even finding the right boat, finding the right everything... and then finding him kissing the wrong person. That was just the cherry on top of a very shit few weeks. First he'd been passed up for the weddings and commitments column, and now he'd lost the love of his life.

To be fair, he'd never actually told him he was the love of his life. In fact, until a few hours ago, it wouldn't have even crossed Derek's mind that Spencer was the love of his life. Stupid boy, stealing his stories, his interviews, his damned spotlight, the damned position at the NY Times. Fuck him.

Apt.

And now, when he'd finally gotten his head out of his ass and realized... Spencer was kissing someone else. And passionately to boot, Christ. If Derek wasn't so put out by the entire situation, he would actually be rather impressed with the vigor. But he was put out. He was fucken devastated. And the flowers that had seen him through most of New York at a run were hanging limp and wind-beaten by his side. He was too late. And that was that.

"You creepy voyeur,"

Derek frowned. The couple in front of him were still at it, if not a little more intensely than before, but Spencer's voice was right there. Right behind him, for some reason.

"I swear, you have a kink."

And he was there, the bastard, smug as ever, with his hair cut and his hands in his pockets so casually Derek wanted to slap him. Instead, he numbly handed the dead flowers over. And Spencer took them, smirk growing a little before he made a show of smelling them.

"Mmm gasoline and light pollution. Perfect."

"You can't smell light pollution, you ass." Derek replied, tone defeated, tired, but he was smiling too, and when Spencer looked up, his smile gentled.

"You calling me a liar?"

"I can call you whatever the fuck you like, now," and it didn't even take two steps to get to Spencer to kiss him. And he felt warm against him when Derek pulled him close and held him, relishing in the fact that Spencer held him back just as tight.

"Damn straight," he breathed, grinning against him, before dropping the flowers to the ground and yanking Derek back in again.

-

**Radioactive - Imagine Dragons**   
_Based on Fight Club (1999)_

He'd seen it before, of course. People talking to themselves. Muttering, glaring at something or someone that just wasn't there. And he'd scoffed, laughed about it with Spencer, and the other had always smiled. That strange, small thing that said absolutely nothing but made Derek feel as though he'd missed something very, very important.

And here they were, very happily hacking what looked to be the CIA server at 3 in the morning. Derek was buzzing with energy, enough Red Bull and coffee in his blood that he didn't think he'd ever sleep again. His fingers slid over the keys, the sound like a machine gun in the otherwise silent space. Next to him, Spencer lay upside down, knees hooked over the desk Derek was working on, almost obscenely sucking a lollipop. Doing nothing at all but distracting the shit out of Derek.

"Think about it," he drawled, licking his red lips with his redder tongue, pressing them together before parting them on a sigh. Derek determinedly looked at the screen. "If you wipe out all the secrets, there'll be none left to keep."

"There's always secrets, Spence," he told him, pausing a moment to check the code, to double check it, before finally letting his eyes slide to Spencer.

"Hit send." those lips told him, quirking into an amused, sweet smile. "Wipe out even a few."

And Derek paused, fingers over the keys just waiting. Something felt off. Something felt cold and unreal and...

Spencer's hand was on his, slim fingers over his warmer, thicker ones.

"Come on," he purred, so close Derek could feel him against his skin, the heat coming off him, "I can't be your dirty little secret forever."

He pressed down, caressing Derek's fingers with his own, until he caved. Moved. Let his finger drop to the button and set the virus scurrying through the system. He felt more than saw Spencer smile.

"That's my boy."

And then he sat back, greeted with nothing. No heat of a warm, welcoming body, no stickiness on his fingers from the lollipop Spencer had been sucking, no Spencer. Just Derek, alone, at an unholy hour of the morning, wondering how long he'd been awake, wondering why his hands were shaking, and hoping, praying, that if he stayed up longer he'd see Spencer again.

-

** Stripped - Shiny Toy Guns **  
_Based on Inception (2010)_

The song was slowed so much it was almost comical; just a slow murmur of something resembling the French classic song. But he wasn't listening to that, he was staring intently at the gun in his hand and the man in front of him. The other just smiled.

"Damn, Spence, I have missed your mind."

"Get out."

And Derek laughed, a sound that sent shivers up Spencer's back, that drove that annoying tingling to his eyes that indicated he was about to cry.

"You're dead."

"And you're crazy." Derek's smile softened. "Come on baby..."

"Don't." and he held his breath, afraid if he said anything else he'd lose it, he'd lose his composure, lose his precarious hold on the fact the dream, lose his mind. He missed him. He missed him so much it ached, it tore him open with every moment he spent down here, far enough to forget himself and what happened, to forget that he'd aimed a gun at him just like this once, just like this, and fired. And it hadn't been a dream. And he hadn't woken up. And neither had Derek.

"Shoot then," around them, the sond reverberated. Spencer swallowed and shook his head.

"Too scared?"

And Derek's smile was so gentle now, like the smiles Spencer remembered from early Saturday mornings, lazy and silly, they'd lasted hours and hours and neither had ever cared that they were always wasted days. He shook his head again.

"Once bitten," he breathed, standing straighter and sending a bullet through his skull.


End file.
